


Talk To Me

by bela013



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:32:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bela013/pseuds/bela013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a married couple, they developed a routine, learned about each other. But it's apart that they set their duties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk To Me

 There was this little voice that kept making her hit her head on the nearest wall, but the rest of her body just wanted to slam _his_ head. When her septa told her, a long time ago, that marriage was not an easy thing, she never thought that she would have the same problems that she was having now.

"How do you expect me to bear you sons, my lord?" his eyes darted from wall to wall, not daring to stop at my direction, tempting me to grit my teeth like he usually does. He made to stand up, but not before my hand grabbed his own, and my nails dug into his skin. "I refuse to be blamed for this, when it's you that is keeping me from performing my duty." my hold on him does not falter, so he gives up and sits back.

 We were in my chambers, where he usually took his meals when he returns from a long time in King's Landing. I know that crowds bother him, and he only keeps my company because he feels the this is part of a husband duty. I try not to care for this, for when he spends months away from home, I don't want to miss him, or his scowls.

"I'm not blaming you." he never screams, not even when angry, so I have no idea what is going through his mind. My nails must be hurting him, but Stannis keeps still. I let go of him, I'm tired of this, of being the one responsible for everything. There are little crescent moons on his the top of his skin, they are red, but not bleeding, maybe, if I kept on, they would really bleed.

"But others are. You leave me here, alone with them, those lords dare to look down on me, they... they pity me!" and it was not tear that this brought to my eyes. No, all of them, those men, weaker than me, their pity made me see red, and if I could, I'd gut them like a fish.

"I'm sorry" the feel of his fingers on my wrist pull me away from my mind, from the images of blood that I conjured to calm me down. The way his eyes fixated on mine was soothing. I know he has the same problems, even being the king's brother didn't make Stannis a popular man, it only made him the man that was not the king. But he had how own way of dealing with this, he ignored people and kept on doing what he had to do. I just could never understand why he chooses to ignore me too.

"I don't want your apology, I want you to at least try and help me. I know I'm not a beauty, but I'm not monstrous. Can't you at least try?", my pride would keep me from begging in a normal situation, but this was Stannis, he wouldn't mock me for this, I am the one who has a cruel streak in his marriage.

"And what do you want me to do?" making circles in my wrist, he looks almost as if he's not paying attention. Was he doing this on purpose? Was he going me make me come out and say it? Does he think that I won't?

"Isn't it obvious, my lord?" it's easy to stand up and tower over him, he doesn't grip my wrist, but let go, allowing me to move towards him.

 How a man like him, cold in manners and speech can have such a warm body is beyond me, but it always proves to be a comfort when we lay in bed, so it shouldn't be different as I lower my body in his lap. His hand don't go back to my wrist, it finds a place in my neck. His nails begin his circles anew in the nape of the neck, tangling the hair that grew there, and was too small to fit in my braid. His thumb, pressed on my ear lobe, making me grateful for not having my ears pierced, since they attract enough attention as they were.

 Why must he put up such a fight for something he seams so calm and pleased to do? Why must I always be the one to pull him closer, to tell him what to do, to guide him? Was he still fixed on the idea that I didn't wish for his touches? I hopped that would stop after a while, a couple of months after our wedding.

Leaning into him, nose to nose, his eyes look like a stormy sea. So much for the windows of the soul, when I know that what he really has is wings and claws. My husband is a moody bird, snapping his beak at anyone who dared to pet him the wrong way, going too close to the ears, and being loud, ruffing his meticulously clean feathers. His eyes belonged to the night sky, where the wind was cool and smelled of salt.

 Our lips matched close, not even in a kiss, I breathed in as he breather out. But in a sudden movement, yes, his like the hawk he can be, my lower lip is snatched in his mouth, and he sucked on it, inviting me to come closer yet. Next is my tongue, parting his teeth and invading his mouth. A low growl in the back of his throat tells me he's enjoying himself, of course, there is also the fact that he let go of my neck to hold onto my waist to show that. He wanted me to move against him, over the budge that he had on his pants. But he knew me well by now, to know that to get what he wanted, first, he will have to give me what I want.

 He pulls up my dress, at least only enough to be able to sneak his hand under the fabric of smallclothes too, and have his fingers trace a line on the inside of my thigh and upwards, the rough skin of his fingers send shivers down my spine when they reach between my legs. They find me wet, anxious for this, which helps when his middle finger slide between my folds, fitting right in place. Allowing him to pull my hips, I fill it sliding into me, crooked, digit right where I enjoy the most. I moan in his mouth, and rest my body of his hand, palm rubbing my mound. This could make up for the months apart, and how I had to drag him to me, for at least he didn't need directions when using his hand.

"Bed", it's all I manage to mumble, and it's enough for me to bear the moments when his fingers leave me, just so he can hoist me up and bring me to our bed. This was a good bed, the new bed he got us after his brother soiled our marital one. I had good memories in this new bed.

 There is no space between us, he doesn't lower me in bed to follow after, he leans in with me attached to his hip. I'm glad my hair is on a braid, otherwise, it would end up in a tangled mess, and there was no face to have when your hand maids have to fix it for almost an hour, and they all know what you've been doing the night before.

 I make sure to help him remove his shirt, last time I was so caught up in the act that he stayed fully dressed until the morning after, when I made him stay and bathe with me. My actions prompt him to help me get out of my clothes, and soon after, my dress, his shirt, and my smallclothes are on the bedroom floor by the bed. My hands reach down for the lace of his breaches, he kept on laying kissing along my neck and jaw, and letting out a relived sigh when my fingers wrap around his cock and pull it out of its cloth prison. I could play with him for a while, but not today, no, I wanted him inside me, so I just guide him. It could be easier if I was on top, but it was one of the few things that Stannis would not give up to me. As if I needed to sit on top him to have the real control in bed. There is a little bit of force needed at first, it has been so long since we last laid, but once the head is in, the rest slides in smoothly.

 His movements are slow at first, as if he was getting used to me again, but once I clench around him, he speeds up to something us both can enjoy. There is sweat all over him, so when our torsos come together, he drips on me, but the friction of his chest on my nipples is pleasant enough to forget that is his sweat that made him slippery against me. I can feel him beginning to shake above me, I now he's near his climax, and even if I would like a few minutes more, I don't mind, not this time at least, it's been a long time a part, he deserves this as much as what I will make sure to receive once he wakes up.

There is a final trust, and his head in buried in the crook of my neck. After the almost of the night in silence, it's now that he begins talking, it always is. When he is done repeating my name as if in an mantra, his mumbles turn into words and sentences. And his tales of King's Landing go over the night once he is laid on my side, my back to him, and his face, still on my neck. He enjoys the closeness at night as much as I like him fingers inside me, and he feels comfortable, there is nothing to complain about this, really.

 His deep voice pains pictures of ships full of gold, Lannister gold as my eyes get to heavy. He is still on about his irresponsible brothers and how good Renly was in one of Robert's foolish tourney. All in all, it was a good night, and even if this was not something we could do even at every week, I could still enjoy him as he was, someone so similar and yet so different from me.


End file.
